


floriography

by orphan_account



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fill for the kink meme.<br/>prompt: "I would love to see Connor as Charles' omega and they both know it but Connor is too young,so Charles rejects Connor, meaning to come back and get him when his older and finish claiming him. Connor doesn't know Charles plans to come back and thinks he's been rejected and thinks there is something wrong with him to make his alpha leave him. Charles thinks Connor was killed in the fire at his village, they meet up again when Connor becomes an assassin."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. yellow carnation

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1\. A fair warning. This is very likely to be dropped. I’m busy, and even with the school year coming to a close, I have very little time. I’ll try to do the installments in an order that lets them stand alone, so that no one feels unsatisfied. 
> 
> 2\. Universe notes:
> 
> \- Male alphas can only impregnate. Female alphas can impregnate and be impregnated. The clit is about 3-4" when fully erect, and they can knot.  
> \- Male betas can only impregnate. Female betas can only be impregnated.  
> \- Male omegas can impregnate and be impregnated. Female omegas can only be impregnated. They go into rut about once every three or so years after puberty has been going on for 1-2 years. So, a first heat would be around 15-16. Heat is not ended by pregnancy, though it is the only time alphas and omegas are fertile. Heat is ended after roughly a week. Herbal birth control and suppressants are available. Mock heats can be triggered by stress to force a bonding and comforting experience. Betas are fertile whenever.  
> \- The population is about 40-50% beta. The remaining percentage is roughly 24.8% male alpha and 24.8% female omega. That leaves us with 0.2% male omega and 0.2% female alpha.  
> \- The concept of ‘soul mates’ somewhat exists. It’s the pull of genetic compatibility, often expressed by the way someone smells. You can have multiple people with that pull. Some have a larger pull, but personality-wise, there is no mesh.  
> \- Alignments are a first Civ trait that has been bred down. It is not as strong as it was then– they did have soul mates. The pull of genetic compatibility is stronger in humans with large amounts of first Civ DNA. IE, Altair felt no pull to anyone before Maria, and when he did, it was quite strong. (Not that he wasn’t boning Malik.) The Assassins of the Levant are actually credited for finding most of the herbal remedies slash meditation techniques for temporality suppressing alignments.  
> \- Accepted parings are generally hetero beta parings, and male alpha/female omega parings. There’s a small religious loophole for male/male alpha/omega parings by papal degree but they are only allowed to have sex for reproductive reasons, and the male alpha will likely also have a wife. The male omega has, basically, women’s rights in terms of land ownership and general citizenship. This is, however, in European culture.  
> \- Female alphas are usually killed at birth. Again, mostly European. Most that make it to adulthood do their best to hide their alignments. Often burned for witchcraft if they’re found out. 
> 
> 3\. Alignments of notable Assassins:  
> \- Altair Ibn-La’Ahad, Omega  
> \- Malik Al-Sayf, Alpha  
> \- Maria Thorpe, Alpha  
> \- Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Alpha  
> \- Sofia Sartor, Beta  
> \- Aveline de Grandpre, Omega
> 
> You read through all that? Good for you. Let’s get this started.

There was an itch in his nose as they moved further and further into the forest. He dismissed it at first as perhaps the fault of the over-abundant flowers that peppered the valley, but it was something entirely different than the nagging felt before a sneeze.

He ignored it. Haytham had given him a directive, and he would obey it. He said ‘given him’, but in reality, Johnson and Hickey had been included in the order. He knew what Haytham had meant though. He was in charge, really. Haytham trusted him.

“Oi.” Hickey’s voice broke his train of thought, and he watched as the man pointed out a fall of pine branches with his bayonet. “Somefing’s in there. Or someone.”

Indeed, there was movement coming from under the branches– something larger than a rabbit but certainly shaking like one. Could it be one of the primitive rats they were going to treat with? A runt of a rat, if his guess was right.

Johnson was here, watching. So was Hickey. They’d both be reporting back to Haytham with a debrief on how all of this went. Knowing Thomas, he’d take any chance to report back to Haytham any failures on his part, and Johnson wouldn’t defend him unless he’d done something to warrant speaking on his behalf. So Charles strode over, guessed the distance, and reached into the pile of branches to hoist out– a child.

The scent hit him full force, and he could feel himself stirring into hardness, even though this child, this savage scum of a child was likely barely off his mother’s milk. This omega child, who smelled like pine and musk and smoke from cooking fires.

There was a laugh from William, who was also an alpha. Doubtless, he knew what was going on. Could smell the need and the protectiveness pouring off of Charles. Thomas, forever the clueless beta, let out a ‘wot?’ before William informed him.

“He’s a bond with the native child–“ And Thomas broke out in wheezing laughter.

Charles still had a hold on the scruff of the boy, and the child just stared at him with black eyes, not even fighting the hold. Doubtless, he knew what was going on as well. He had never felt this strongly compelled by an omega, even the women he had courted. There was Haytham, yes, but he was also an alpha, and it would be wrong, so wrong, but even he didn’t make Charles want and need like this–

All he wanted was to protect this child, to keep him safe and warm and well fed.

He rallied his temper. He was a Templar. The Father of Understanding guided him. This must have been a test. Yes, a test.

There was a tree near. He pinned the boy to the tree by his throat, choking the life out of him, even as something inside him screamed and raged. Charles ranted then, about the boy’s scum of a race, their savage ways, his fingers growing tighter and tighter as the boy gasped and his lips took on a tinge of blue.

He had to fight it, this weakness, this bond with the savage. He was a Templar, he was better than this, he’d find another bond–

Johnson’s hand on his shoulder brought him back.

“Enough. We won’t make friends with them if we kill their children. Time to go, Charles.”

He dropped the boy, watched as he crumbled down onto the ground, still staring at him with those eyes like endless pits.

“‘aight Mr. Lee, time to leave your lover behind,” Hickey taunted.

He turned, and did not look back.


	2. gladiolus

Ratonhnhaké:ton had known what he was since he was a small child. A blessing, his mother had called him, and the Clan Mother had agreed. While the clan had more aligned than the Europeans- actually, more than most of the tribes in the area, maybe in the whole confederacy- the number of omega males wasn’t more than three or four in the entire tribe. The Clan Mother was an alpha herself, one of those special people who tended to fight the usual alignments suggested by nature. His mother was an alpha as well, and she told him his father (Haytham, the man who had left before he had known Ratonhnhaké:ton was even stirring in her womb) was one too. An unusual match, as things went, but not unheard of.

His mother told him things were different with the white men, that alignments were fussed over much more. She mentioned- only in passing, because he was still young- that he might have to hide his nature in time, if he wished to visit the world of the colonists.

But here and now? That did not matter. What did matter was scrambling up trees with Kanen'tó:kon, scraping his knees and dirtying his clothes, playing hide-and-seek in the valley, finally away from the watchful eyes of his mother.

He chose a fall of pine branches to hide in, burrowing down and gazing out from under the needles. For some reason, it became difficult to hide after a few minutes; there was almost a feeling of being watched that kept creeping up on him. He almost wanted to look behind him. Strangely enough, his palms itched, something tickling the back of his throat. It was a smell he couldn't place, but it was familiar in a way that had him frustrated. If he knew the smell, why couldn't he remember what it was? Ratonhnhaké:ton shifted under the branches, unable to stay perfectly still like he desired. The smallest movements would stir the needles, and he would be found, and the game ruined.

Caught between trying to rationalize his movements and fussing with the thought that the smell might be more important than his game, he only heard the thump of boots when they were too close for him to flee without being seen. The men were, without a doubt, colonists, and hearing them speak only confirmed that. Ratonhnhaké:ton could understand enough English to know what was being said, but it was hard to concentrate, especially when one of the men reached in and grabbed him. The touch was what did it, even through the glove. He went limp, like a kitten in its mother's hold, because now he knew where the smell was coming from, and it promised safe and loved, somewhat like Ziio's.

He stared, at first. The alpha- because he knew now, his mother's words coming back- /his/ alpha, was dressed extraordinarily well, especially for a colonist. He held himself like a manwho knew how to wield power, almost like his mother, but with more of a forced grace. His mate was a white man, one who had, assumably, come on to his land with the same intent that other men had. Maybe- maybe this was for the best, maybe the clan could benefit from this. If only the man would stop looking at him like that, if only his alpha would stop looking at him like he was trash. Ratonhnhaké:ton stared, pleading silently, looking for some sign of acceptance from the man, some sign he would call off his companions.

The throw against the tree was unexpected, knocking the breath from his lungs. It pulled too, at his heart. Alphas generally couldn't be violent with their omegas, it was taboo as well as nearly impossible, at least in his tribe. His hope was still trying to grasp at something as the man fastened his hand around his throat and spat poison at him. His heart felt pulled tight, impossibly so, painful, worse than the time he had touched the cooking fire--

He closed his eyes, wished it away, wanted it to end, because this was too much, his alpha screaming obscenities in his ear and keeping such a tight hold on his throat that he thought the man might have been trying to kill him.

And suddenly, it ended. Ratonhnhaké:ton fell down, knocking his head on the trunk. Everything was fuzzy and hurting still. He could make out some of the conversation between the men.

Charles Lee. His alpha was named Charles Lee, and as Charles Lee walked away, he could feel their bond straining, separating, like an animal being skinned. It hurt too much for him to think, and he closed his eyes instead.

He came to later, when the sun was much lower in the sky. Ratonhnhaké:ton felt so completely numb that he could only stagger to his feet. A hand went to his temple, drew back when he felt the wetness of blood. He had to get back to the village, find his mother. She would be so worried, the other children would have already returned. Then maybe he could face the horror of what had happened. His alpha had rejected him. He was worthless, broken. He wanted his mother fiercely, because he was too old to cry, and she would be able to make sense of all of this, make it better.

He saw the smoke from his village once he cleared the patch of trees. Ratonhnhaké:ton ran for the entrance, even with his pounding headache.

\----

"Connor? I expect you back by dark," Achilles called, rapping his cane once to punctuate his command.

Kanen'tó:kon had visited a few days back for four nights, and his reports were of increasing tension between his people, William Johnson, who continued in his persistence to buy the land, and the statesmen, who Connor had been bribing with profits from the pelts he had been collecting. It was enough to hold off the purchase and buy him time. Besides, come spring, omegas tended to go into rut, and rumor was that Johnson had a few mistresses that might take up his time.

Achilles had urged him to kill Johnson, but it was Connor's idea to use the power vacuum to then buy the land himself. He would have to confront Johnson soon, to halt the man's flow of cash from profiteering. Then, he could gain more money and precious time.

Seek the symbol, the spirit had said. Connor had done just that. Having a cause allowed him to put his biggest failures to the side, to hope that the good he could do would result in forgiveness for the death of his mother and the rejection of his alpha.

His Templar alpha.

Connor ground his teeth together. He was an Assassin. That was his life, whole and total. There was not a margin for error.

He gave a nod to his mentor to signify that he had been heard, then hoisted himself into the nearest tree to start running. He needed to bring down at least three deer, and a wolf if he could manage it.

Time was precious. For the plan to work, he needed to disrupt Johnson's plans before his next heat. It was his second ever, but if the first was anything to go by, it would be hideous and a compete waste of time and energy. He barely made it through the last one, even with the teas. Achilles said it was because he had already met his alpha, and his body was expecting to have its needs met.

He didn't know that his protégée's alpha was Charles Lee. Questioning Connor had only led to one word responses with a strong air of not wanting to discuss it. So Achilles let it go, except for Connor's first heat. He had pulled up a chair below the stairs, and sat there, rifle in hand, protective as always.

Connor shifted into a more comfortable position on the hunting blind. Heats and rut were such useless things. It wasn't as if he wanted young. Drawing his bow, he aimed at a deer below.

Connor doubted he was even fertile. There had to have been something wrong with him for his alpha to reject him. And even if Charles Lee hadn't treated him the way he had, had taken Connor in with open arms, to living within the Templar fold from such a young age, with his father and his mother, because surely Charles Lee would not have burned down his village if he had not found Connor so offensive-

There. The perfect shot. He drew back the bowstring, lined up his arrow--

Something crackled through the underbrush and thin snow, startling the deer, and she prepared to bolt. Connor cursed under his breath, readjusted, and took the shot.

He dropped down from the tree, and went to skin the deer. The shot had been clean. A kill to be proud of, and the flawless pelt would bring a tidy profit. Achilles would get venison for dinner, and...

Connor grit his teeth. He needed to stop making excuses, fooling around. Things were what they were. He might not have wanted any inch of this life, but he had a spirit that was guiding him. There was nothing for him to worry about beyond how he was going to stall Johnson, and avoid his death if possible.

He needed to do his duty, honor the promises he had made for his people, not wandering aimlessly and fussing like a fool over an alpha he had no real need for.

Achilles nodded as he brought the kills in by the back door, already butchered with the offal thrown into the sea. He took down a few vegetables down from the shelf, untied a few herbs, and hoisted the stew pot from where it had been sitting.

"We have a lead on Johnson," his mentor said, pulling out a chair to watch Connor cook. He knew he had to make a large enough meal so the old man would have something to eat while he was gone, something hearty and filling.

"Where?" Connor murmured, slicing the meat up tidily.

"Boston. With the British tea." Achilles reached for a loaf of bread, and set about cutting it.

"How soon?" The water was boiling, and he set about fixing the broth.

"Three days for you to travel there, then you should strike within two more days." Connor stopped cooking, hand caught in the motion of peeling garlic. Achilles continued, almost cautious. The man had little tact, but he reserved a little for this. "You will go with the herbs. You know the exercises, the meditations. It is unlikely it will strike that early. You have trained for this. Every Assassin has. You cannot allow your nature to get in the way of a strike this potentially devastating, especially if you keep insisting you will not simply kill Johnson."

"It is a gamble I am slightly unwilling to take," Connor admitted, going back to peeling the garlic. "But I will do it. You are correct. But if my cycle starts on time, that will leave me in heat while on the road back."

Achilles tapped his cane on the floor. "Your village. Would it be faster to go there rather than coming straight here?"

"That is a good idea, old man," Connor said, nodding. "But I hate to leave you alone for that long."

The Assassin mentor waved his hand as if to say that he would be fine, which he would. The Davenport homestead had managed for years before Connor, and it had been in a much worse state. Besides, more people lived on the land, and most of them loved to fuss over the old man on the hill.

Connor tossed a few more vegetables into the pot, moving it away from the fire. "I will leave tomorrow morning, before dawn."

They cooked amiably in silence, ate, and both retired to bed, Connor packing up the leftovers beforehand.

The trip to Boston was nice enough, with Connor snaring several beavers and a rabbit. The heavy snow this year would be good for insulating the roots, and bring lots of fresh water for spring plants, and, on top of that Connor noticed, with a certain air of pleasure, the lack of redcoats around the area near the homestead. The first patrol he encountered was far, and he was able to avoid them, riding into the forest and back onto the trail once the sound of the drums faded. He would strongly prefer that the homestead remain a peaceful oasis for as long as possible.

Despite being discovered on the second day- an accident, he had taken a more populous road to cut down on time wasted- he made good time, and rode into the city confident that he would be able to complete his mission before his heat started, and went to meet his contacts to secure a bed for his stay.


	3. coriander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: semi noncon. author does not consider it noncon and the character experiencing the act does not consider it noncon, but you have been warned.  
> 

Connor grinned wildly. They had done it! They had finally done it, despite the barrage of Redcoats. He knew he was off- his reactions were slower, and he had fallen to using his pistol when he felt risky judging the swing of his tomahawk. Still, they had done it, the Assassin and his newfound ‘friends’ in the Sons of Liberty. He knew they were just using him, possibly without intending to. The prejudice against his kind was rubbed into most minds like a particularly strong stain, and while he could start working on rubbing it out, he was early in the process yet. 

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and whirled around, only to see Sam standing there with a rather triumphant smile on his face. Stephane was a few steps behind him, holding the last box for him. It was a delightful gesture, and Connor reached to take it, nodding as Sam went on about how great a victory this was for the colonies. 

Stephane quirked an eyebrow, asking if everything was still alright. Connor simply shook his head slightly. He was fine, at least for another hour, which gave them time to make it back to the inn and for Connor to rest and wait this out. His body had purged itself a few hours before this whole mess started, and already his body was starting to show signs that the heat was imminent- his lack of hand-eye coordination, the slight slick he could feel, the burning urge to find his alpha, and then to give that man every ounce of himself. Thankfully, his cock knew to behave itself, and stayed resolutely soft in his smallclothes. He had also been blessed that most of the Sons of Liberty were betas, and under the smell of the blood and gunpowder, none but the most dominant of alphas could have smelled him. 

Stephane had been told the rough details of the problem, and had been charged with getting Connor back to the inn, a task he was about to embark on. His plan to make it to the village had failed that morning when the purge had set in, and he was simply thankful he had someone like his new recruit to make sure he was safe. 

He took the last box in his hands, the unsanded wood of the crate rough in his hands as he carried it over to the harbor, ready to let it drop, enjoy the splash it would make, and then head back to the inn.

“Connor,” Stephane whispered urgently, causing him to turn his head and look at the dock across a canal for other ships to dock. “We ‘ave company, mon ami.”

Connor knew what the head Templars looked like. Achilles had the portraits in the mansion, and even though it had been many years, he remembered the details that the painters left out in hopes of flattery, or because they could not really capture the nuances of each man’s face. The change with his alpha between portrait and visage was the most stunning, though. Where the painting and his fragile memory recalled thick, well-kept hair, what was there now was thin, and greasy. His clothes were still lavish, and his build, strong. The lace at his cuffs was beautifully tatted on the hand he could see, the other covered in a glove. Connor knew that is the hand that tore him out of his hiding spot.

The cold winter wind changed direction, and carried the scent of the men over. Alphas, betas, but one man’s scent sent his fragile sense of control overboard. 

There was a warmth in his smallclothes, a leaking of slick, because his body was a traitor and it knew. He saw Charles Lee’s nostrils flare, his stance shifted, as the rouge wind changed course. 

Connor’s knees locked as he held back the weakness, but Stephane, patient, waited for a reply. ‘May every god that has been invoked, European or ‘savage’, damn Charles Lee to hell,’ he thought viciously, as he brought himself under control with an iron will.

“Not tonight, Stephane. Let their anger brew.” Thankfully, the French-Canadian man was discreet, as well as the owner of a nose many times broken, hindering his scenting abilities. Connor held up his hand. “Peace, for now.”

His recruit nodded, and it was a matter of minutes for him to get the name of the place Stephane would be sleeping and plan on meeting in a few weeks. Connor was free then, and took off walking. He favored alleys as he went, trying to ignore the pressure in his pants.

The slick was hot, dripping from his body. He could feel it on the back of his balls, and the junction between his legs was wet. He felt skin slide against skin as he walked. His cock ached, and in the shadows he had to adjust himself to prevent the erection from showing more than it wanted to. The new position pinched, but it was the only one that did not scream his condition. He was still a good walk from the inn, and the boardinghouse had thin walls. 

His balls ached at the idea he might not get release tonight. He wanted to come– inside a woman, inside a man, from his own hands, anything. He could, too. Fingers drifted over the outline of the organ trapped by cloth, and he gave a lurch, his free hand flung out to brace himself on the brick wall of the building closest. It was dark, and the inn was so far away. Just one orgasm before he got back, to take the edge off. One wasted spill of seed. 

It was the omega’s madness that caused Connor to undo his pants and get a nice sturdy hand around his pulsing dick. The slick inside him ramped up, and he had to shove his pants down a little more, so he could squat a little, and allow the slick to drip on the ground rather than into his pants. He knew he wouldn’t attract any alphas– his scent screamed ‘claimed’, had always been that way, so if anyone caught the scent, he would be fine.

Normally, he would have been ashamed with himself. The rampant interest in sex caused by heats disgusted him in its ability to turn a rational man into one who had the first priority of getting off. They called it the ‘omega’s madness’, sometimes, and he couldn’t agree more.

He played with his ass a little, not placing anything inside himself, even though he ached for it. His hands were too dirty, and even if omegas purged well, there was no chance he was infecting himself with something. Connor did squeeze his balls, which served a dual purpose, coating his hand with something that would make the slide easier, as well as feeling damn good. His sac hung heavy, a little out of proportion to the prick he had, but that meant there was more to enjoy.

As his hand glided slowly, he thought about what it might be like to engage in the act with someone else. Someone who would be ... alright with his condition, that he was imperfect goods. A widow, maybe. A woman with a wide stance and a sharp tongue, someone who would be challenging and comforting. A partner, in a way. And she would know what she was doing. 

He had heard that there were acts that involved parties using their mouths to bring pleasure- she would serve him that way, would suckle at his nipples and balls, play with his foreskin, and maybe place a finger or two inside him. Connor would like to place his mouth between her legs, and lap at her cunt, taste her. Women produced slick all the time, and he liked the taste of his own, so maybe hers would be as sweet...

He groaned, his hand working a little faster, beads of sweat on his forehead. His thick muscles strained on the arm he was bracing himself with against the wall. 

The woman would want him to come inside her too. Fill her, with the strings of come that dripped down onto the ground now, useless. 

He could have her on all fours, bite into her shoulder as he marked her, inside and out. Connor wouldn’t put too much of his weight on her as they made love, though. Maybe she could sit in his lap, and milk him that way. He shuddered and moaned. He was so close, on his thread of memory with a faceless woman, just a little more, another few strokes. 

Madness was the only way to describe how he had not heard any of the sounds that should have preluded the gun on the back of his neck, or smelled the alpha stench that surrounded them now.

His hand dropped when he felt it, his balls already aching, his come denied, trapped, useless. Connor’s breathing was still harsh.

“Both hands on the wall,” Charles Lee said, and the hand holding the gun was shaking slightly. Connor battled with an odd sense of shame, but the smell swept over him again and his cock bobbed to life again. Charles Lee smelled like the promise of a good breeding, but Connor was a virgin in a Boston alley and Charles Lee was an alpha and Charles Lee had a gun, and that was enough to overcome the voices telling him to stay calm, and to fight back the madness that had brought him into this vulnerable position in the first place.

The gun cocked, and Connor placed both of his hands on the wall. Charles Lee set about disarming him, gun still in place as the Templar removed his tomahawk and the two pistols he had at his waist. The Templar’s breathing was harsh, a beat of inhale inhale exhale. Lee was barely under control, and if Connor had been in a better state, he could have taken advantage of it. Hell, if Lee wasn’t his alpha, he could have done something. Right now, his body wanted to get fucked by his alpha, and injuring him went against that. 

The barrel of the gun shook ever so slightly, and Connor was not going to chance fighting back with the chance of getting shot so high. There was a rustle of cloth, and he heard Lee curse under his breath. His legs shifted, spread wider. They both knew what was going to happen. Tensions and hormones were running too high for them not to fuck. They would deal with whatever would happen after after.

The first press of the thick head of Lee’s cock against his dripping hole had him moaning. 

“Whore. Slut.” Connor would have laughed. Was this how Lee justified this? He chuckled, but then Lee slammed into him fully, and it broke off with a whine. He was slick, yes, and being torn was unlikely, but Lee was quite thick and, on the other hand, thankfully short. The thrusts settled into a quick tempo, Lee obviously having no intent to bring Connor any pleasure in this.

Charles smelled like sweat and dogs and unwashed clothes. He was doing his best to bend Connor nearly in half and have their only contact be where his cock slipped into the Assassin’s ass. 

“T-tempter. Half-breed, trying to– lead me into sin–“ The thrusts were getting slower, and Connor had figured out how to separate himself from the pleasure somewhat and look at things with a more clinical eye. He knew how this worked. Charles Lee would knot him, and he would orgasm when they locked. Already, he could feel the base of the alpha’s cock swell slightly, and the huffs of breath the man was taking grew more frantic. Finish, he thought, while his body clenched in little pulses around the intrusion, trying to start milking the come. It was nice, if he shut the side of his mind off that knew who this was, how he was trying to distance himself. With a little affection, with the way alphas were supposed to act towards their omegas, he could even see how the act could be beautiful and highly pleasurable. 

The knot swelled even more, and bliss came closer. Charles seemed to be talking less, which was a blessing. Then, with a jerk, Charles pulled the knot free, and began the quick thrusts once more. It hurt, it burned– knots were meant to stop thrusting, they were too thick to fuck an omega with, especially a male one.

Connor screamed in unexpected pain, a feral sound, but all Charles did was press the still-present gun into the back of his neck harder.

“Be quiet, Assassin.” He had torn, Connor knew it. The pain stung, and Charles’ knot was still growing. It would burn when the man came. Lee sounded manic when he spoke. “Knew what– you were trying to do– steal my seed–“ The Templar thought he wanted to bear his young? He was on herbs anyway, to suppress this. Could the man not smell that? It was impossible to conceive. Even then, to bring a child into this world was impossible. Lee had rejected him before for that very reason. 

The spurts of come were too hot and too much, and they burned the tender flesh that had torn as they leaked out around Charles Lee’s still thrusting prick. The man was done, the knot blessedly shrinking as he grew soft, but only when he could not force himself into his omega’s hole did he stop. 

His balls ached after two denied orgasms, and his cock was still at half-mast, even after the pain. The burn was lower, adrenaline kicking in even though he knew he couldn’t fight Charles Lee not like this. He would need the energy to get back to the inn, if his legs could even carry him. He waited until the alpha had done up his clothes and pulled the gun away before his arms failed him, and Connor slumped into kneeling on the ground of the alleyway.  
Teeth grit, he closed his eyes. The inn wasn’t more than ten minutes away, but that was at a run. He would need bandages, hot water and soap, if he could get it. Charles Lee had left, hurried down and out of the alley like the rat he was. 

Smallclothes were pulled up and adjusted, and his cock had finally given up and allowed itself to be stuffed into his pants. The walk would be beyond painful, but he could do it. If he favored his right leg, it would look like he had been in a fight and lost. Connor just hoped threatening looks and the smell of blood and the alley would be enough to cover any other smells on his person.


	4. wormwood

Charles’ breath was soft on his back as the man slid into him slow. “Raton- Ratonhnhaké:ton,” the older man groaned between lurching thrusts. Connor was holding himself up on his hands and knees, with one of Charles’ hands on his stomach and the other interlaced with his own, trying to add support to the position they were in.

“You are so beautiful–“ His alpha’s voice was worshipful, slipping down to stroke at his cock gently and make him whimper. “You will look even better filled with my seed- my heirs-“ Connor sighed, shifting his neck so Charles could press kisses along it, his mustache tickling slightly.

The rhythm was lovely, patient and slow. The movement was a union rather than a competion- and for once, Connor did not wish for a woman instead. He had only wished for women in his fantasies, though, and this- this was real.

This was bliss, wasn’t it? He was about to say as much to his alpha, when Charles Lee’s tone suddenly changed, growing harsh and loud. 

“Half-breed scum! Whore, rat, savage–“ Hands were around his throat, and his ass ached, burned. He had been used, and Connor could not breathe.

He gasped, and worked his hands free to claw at his neck. The Templar hissed, but would not let go, even as Connor shook, fever-mad and–

With a resounding thump, he fell to the floor, along with whomever was on top of him. He thrashed once, twice– and felt a gun pressed to his temple. Connor froze, and slowly demanded that the world come back to him.

The inn. He had made it back, then tended to his wounds as best he could, and paid extra to bathe in the hubbub of the events he had caused last night in the harbor. The proprietor of the inn was a Patriot, one he had seen in the background in a meeting he has been dragged into, so not too many questions were asked. He had slept, recalling the eldest daughter coming up after the water had been dumped to give him extra blankets. 

He opened his eyes. One was swollen nearly shut, but he got a good idea of the trouble he was in when he saw the face of the man holding the gun. Slow as could be, he raised a finger to his lips. Connor’s own were curled in a snarl. 

Charles Lee had returned. With his heat over and the resulting injuries flared up, he was in no space to fight the other man. Still, heats took a lot out of alphas too. Connor could only hope the sum of both their injuries still put him slightly above the other man. However, risking confrontation was just that- a risk.

The man nodded to the bed, taking a seat in the corner of the room. Gun still pointing at him, Connor sat, wincing at the tenderness of his knees. 

“It seems... we need to come to an agreement.”

He let Lee drone on, his eyes flickered to the corner, where he had placed his weapons. His blade needed oiling and he was out of darts, among other tools, but he could kill or incapacitate the man with something heavy enough.

The gun cocked.

“It would be best if you listened, savage,” Lee fumed, his short temper on edge, finally having realized Connor was paying him no mind.

His reply was cool and measured. What did Lee want? He had taken nearly everything physical he could the night before, so what more? If he expected Connor to give him information, he was sorely mistaken. Scowling, he sat up more, resting on his knees despite the pain.

“What good is it for me to bargain with my enemy? I assume it is our shared ... condition that bothers you so.”

The alpha snarled, and Connor bared his teeth, both waiting for something to give them the excuse to attack.

A knock on the door made Connor nearly fling himself towards his blade, trying to gain the upper edge in the impending fight. There was a noise from Lee, and he caught himself, muscles tense from preparing to spring.

“Come in.” Lee spoke as if he owned the place, sliding the gun under his ornate coat. His supposed control over his current state worried Connor the most. The man assumed much of himself, and forgot to leave room for error.

A woman- the daughter who had brought the blankets- walked in, a tea set placed on a wooden tray in hand. She smiled at Charles, who directed her with a not so subtle nod to leave the room, now. They both breathed a quick sigh of relief when the maid left, glad to be able to have weapons out in the open again. 

Charles stood, trained his gun on Connor, and went to inspect the tea. He lifted the lid of the simple teapot, sniffed the boiled water with an air of suspicion, and added a packet of something from an inner pocket of his coat. The stuff was hideous, dried and smelling like death itself, rot and carrion. 

Of course, Charles poured a hearty glass of it once the herbs had steeped and gave it to Connor.

“What do you propose I do with this?” He gazed down into the depths of the cup, watched the flakes that hadn’t been strained out whirl around before settling at the bottom of the cup.

“Drink it. The whole pot. It will keep you from becoming... pregnant.” The disgust that it took for Lee to spit out the words was amusing to watch, and Connor rolled his eyes, a gesture he had picked up from the folks at the homestead. “Go on,” Lee remanded.

“I am not with child. I will not be. I took precautions– they failed me as far as suppression, and that is troublesome on its own. The other ones, though, from my personal collection. They do not fail. Beyond that, we both know it is impossible.”

The gun was waved about a little more, and Connor’s lips pursed. A real threat did not need to back itself up with meaningless gestures. He had much to think on. Lee had not offered a rebuttal to his insistence that he did not need the herbs because of his defect. What that meant...

Lee interrupted his thoughts.

“How can I trust a savage?”

In an even voice, Connor addressed the Templar. “With my ‘lifestyle’, can I afford to become pregnant? Even if I could– your child? I would be a madman to let you sire something, after this.” Staring Charles in the eye, he stood, gun on him all the while. He swallowed the contraceptive tea in one swig, took his weapons from the table, and slid them into place slowly, straightening his robes as he went. Lee said nothing. When he was done, he walked to the door, all personal effects removed from the room. Before he went, he turned slightly over his shoulder to address the other man.

“I assumed you rejected me on the basis that I could not bear young. It seems I was mistaken on that. You rejected me because you are ignorant and violent. The next time I see you, I will kill you.”


End file.
